


Kids Under the Stars.

by fearless_seas



Series: We Were Made of Sunshine and Gold [10]
Category: Formula 1 RPF
Genre: Intimacy, Kissing, M/M, Romantic Gestures, Talking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-25
Updated: 2018-05-25
Packaged: 2019-05-13 14:45:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,032
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14750877
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fearless_seas/pseuds/fearless_seas
Summary: They've both been dreaming about this moment since they children. Now they get to do it. Together.





	Kids Under the Stars.

**Author's Note:**

> I seriously should be sleeping. I have my math final tomorrow. I just had to write. Anyways I am emotional over this weekend for Charles and Pierre; big weekend, so excited you have no idea.

          The city is laid out below them in an array of exquisite, shiny lights. The moon is a silver orb, glowing over the surface of the glittered waves that curled into the cove. Beneath the railing, the Monte Carlo track is so near in the reach of his coiled fingertips. A ripple of excitement trembled and lapped over his core. 

          “Can you believe it?”, Charles asked, his eyes shut gently and the air was thick with the taste of gentle, oncoming rain. 

          Pierre hummed softly, straightening the arch in his back and resting his chin upon the palm of his hand. The wind was rustling up his cinnamon hair and Charles followed the way it gently swept across his forehead, just barely above his eyes. “Quelle?”, his eyes blinked lion-slow up at him. Every subtle movement unwinded him. 

          Charles sighed, leaning himself over the railing and catching the stars twinkle at the creases of their eyes as they flickered back over to the coastline and the gentle ships that bobbed over the rocking surface. “I mean…”, he paused for a moment pensively in a silence that was too empty not to filled, “that we’re here. We’re really going to do  _ this _ .” His hands came forward and gestured out extravagantly in front of them. Pierre caught on, slowing and allowing the words to color his mind. An amused expression came over their features as though delicately molded from clay. 

          Pierre stood up, now towering sweetly over his counter. They faced each other, eyes meeting quietly as beacons of light beneath a soft blanket of dark night. “We are,” he smiled, his lips pried gently a crack. “Since we were kids we have dreamed of it,” a rush of pride swelled in both their chests. It was poetry how both of them were stumbling mindlessly in obscurity attempting to discover the right words to describe this feeling. The soft mess of it in the pit of their stomachs and the warmth collecting itself at the back of their throats. Charles turned away for a small occurrence, back towards the sea and the city out about them; for a moment, that moment, they could both pretend that it was theirs: everything; and maybe, to them, it was. The clouds were gray, like oncoming smoke rolling over the scene, coiling and weaving itself with snow and coal. 

          “Do you think…”, Charles's grip hardened over the metal and he allowed his eyes to squeeze shut in pressure. He could feel Pierre’s eyes on him inquisitively, the interest and concern washing over him. Eyes opened once more, “Do you think he knows?” Again the silence. It was as though he were trying to find the perfect words to say, which was rare. Pierre usually always spoke his mind in that innocent, polite nature of his. It was his wandering, wild soul; just that and chaos alone which made all the difference. The weight of thought and previous words kept upon both of their shoulders. Charles didn’t scope over until he felt a hand slide over wrist and Pierre’s breath was falling in gently, caressing waves. It was difficult: peering into their eyes and knowing at one moment he will have to stop thinking about only them. Moonlight crept over them like pale honey, the slow, sweet words spoken softly into darkness lit only by the ocean of their eyes. 

          The fingers squeezed gently, the interaction sending sparks up the roots of veins and into the bed of his wrist. “He doesn’t just know,” Pierre rubbed the pad of his thumb over Charles’s knuckles in intimacy, “He is watching you, everyday.” The soft reassurance in his voice was enough to ease of the tension of a thousand thunderstorms storms. “Oh, Charles,” he grinned in a proud manner, the creases of his eyes crinkling off and the cherry skin of his lips was like a bright rose bud in the sun, “He is so proud of you.” 

          _Jules is proud of you._

          They were standing so close that Charles knows Pierre saw the immediate sting of emotion brim his eyes for a short moment. Their arms brushed, the shafts of his spine quivering together beneath fragile touches. “ _ Toi aussi _ , Pierre, _ toi aussi _ .” That was it. It was delightful how just the touch of his hand created greater sound waves than words could ever manage. Pierre leans at his side and Charles tilts his head, thinking how beautiful it felt to kiss the sunlight without feeling a burn. The sounds below them draw it like a column of sound and everything is quiet, reticent and nothing matters but their hand on his waist. It lasts several minutes, this interaction. When they pull apart, their eyes are still closed and foreheads rest against one another’s. 

          Charles felt Pierre smile and he opened his eyes to watch. “Will you have me on the podium with you when you win your first championship?”, he questioned beautifully. Charles moved his hand to press over Pierre’s chest, his finger brushing over his collar and the column of his throat. His eyes appeared to be so daring, dangerous even, and Charles was a rebel beneath their enveloping glare. 

          He simpered, lashes fluttering over pale cheeks, “Not unless you win it first.” The next time Pierre kissed him, it was more roughly pressed and Charles had to place his hands on theirs hips to keep them steady. His palms landed in place as though they belonged there and his fingers had memorized the navigation of his curves. 

          Pierre took a breath of air and reached for the chords of his heart and ways no one had, “Teammates?”

          “Teammates.”

          Tonight though, Charles wanted nothing more than for him to hold his waist tightly until he folded in their grip. He couldn’t help but smile at the secret meanings Pierre was pressing into the side of his jaw. The moon has dripped gold upon them, after all those nights laid awake beneath the heavens with dreams that sung little hidden symphonies in their bones. Under this sky, they went about commanding the night just as they ought to be. There was all but one thing mattered in these moments:  _ us _ . 

**Author's Note:**

> The teammates thing is a reference to Pierre Gasly on Instagram implying one day he wants to be teammates with Charles Leclerc (as they were in the past not in F1). 
> 
> If you enjoyed this kudos, and COMMENT. I read every comment, I love them so much. Seriously even one word is enough for me. You can get in touch with on Tumblr @sonofhistory or @pieregasly
> 
> Sometimes it floors me that Charles is only five years older than me, haha. Thanks for reading!


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